


Why Do I Do the Things I Do To Myself

by justyoumeandthestars



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dialogue, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justyoumeandthestars/pseuds/justyoumeandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds Thor yelling - seriously, though, if he’s being honest, the guy has no other volume - about Friend Anthony and The Captain’s Mischief. He’s about to become concerned when he hears a midwest drunken drawl that sounds much like his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do I Do the Things I Do To Myself

It happens when Clint’s drunk.

Of course it does.

He’s just gotten back to New York, back to Stark Tower, after the annual - and by annual it means nearly every four years when his mother decides that clearly he’s lying about being busy - Coulson Family Reunion. It wasn’t as nightmarish as the last one, but he’s slightly stressed and agitated and he’s got multiple piles of paperwork sitting on his desk, his coffee table, and his bed that he sure as fuck did not put there himself and he’s choosing to ignore.

He walks into the common floor’s living room where he finds Thor yelling - seriously, though, if he’s being honest, the guy has no other volume - about Friend Anthony and The Captain’s Mischief. He’s about to become concerned when he hears a midwest drunken drawl that sounds much like his name. 

“It’s sir to you, Barton.”

“Not your agent anymore, _Phil_.” and okay, yeah, that fucking crooked grin and the way his lips seem to tightly form around every word despite the slight slur they come out _does something to him_. Which, yes, alright, he’s a grown up. He can admit it - Phil Coulson had, has, and will proceed to have feelings for Clint Barton. Probably for the rest of time. It doesn’t help, though, when he’s sprawled on Stark’s couch that seriously feels like smooth asses. 

He almost wishes he were kidding.

“Are you drunk, Barton?”

“If I say yes will you fucking stop calling me Barton? Will we officially be over that boundary?” Clint’s smirking and Phil feels warm and still stressed but slightly less agitated but he still wants to touch Barton’s thighs and dammit his tie is so fucking tight.

“I’ve seen you in too many conditions for things to change now.” He loosens his tie, still can’t breathe. 

Takes a second to reevaluate and question why in fact he wants to make Barton chuckle in his ear the way he’s doing sitting on the couch right now.

Then he remembers why, feels himself stiffen, and decides quickly to not sit on that fucking baby-asses couch. And hates his life a bit more than he did before entering the tower.

“Why is Thor booming about Rogers and Stark?”

“Guess you could say they’re _booming_ themselves.” He’s smiling now, and Phil assumes his eyes are lit up behind those sunglasses that prevent others from seeing his thousand-yard stare.

“What are you talking about? They’re fighting again? How many-”

“Not fighting, Coulson. Jesus. They’re fucking. A lot. Loudly, since Friday. No one’s seen them, seriously, it’s getting out of hand. Super-Soldiers need food, amiright?”

Phil stares at him and Clint just grins. 

Things are seriously fucked if Rogers and Stark are fucking before he can grow a pair of balls and ask Clint if maybe, one time, he’d like to go out for coffee, or something - nevermind, you’re probably busy, yes, he understands.

He just keeps staring at presumably and undoubtedly, the love of his life. 

“Fucking?” He croaks.

“I know it must be heartbreaking, but seriously, Coulson-”

“Since Friday?”

“Yeah, why? Were you part of the bet Tash was holding? Because seriously, do you see her around? You don’t even want to know how much she won. It might actually give you an aneurysm.”

Aneurysm comes out jumbled but Phil is still fucking gawking at Barton and the spread of his legs and those fucking thighs and arms and holy shit, he needs to go. Somewhere, anywhere, else. Probably for a long time.

He’s considering a psychiatric ward when Clint clears his throat. “Staring is only cute when I do it, for the record.” Clint states.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, diverting his glance to the clock on the wall. “I just-”

“Have a big super-not-secret crush on Rogers?” Clint fills in, his smile is less passionate now.

“Not quite.” Phil says before he can think to filter it to the back crevices of his brain.

Clint’s eyebrows raise, forehead wrinkling in a way that Phil wants to touch because holy fuck let’s face it, what doesn’t he want to touch on this man. “What’s that supposed to mean? You wanna bang Stark?”

Phil nearly chokes on the air he’s inhaling and Clint begins to laugh at what Phil assumes is the interesting shade of purple he’s turning. “No, please, never-”

“Relax, Coulson.” It’s quiet for a few seconds. “You actually still think I don’t know?” He hasn’t moved composure but Phil senses the air change.

“Know what, exactly?”

“About you. Your, fuck, feelings.” He says ‘feelings’ with air quotes that honestly would make Phil puke if he weren’t so busy looking confused. Or trying to. “You want to fuck me, Phil. You want to love me and marry me and eat pancakes with me on Sundays.”

“Barton, I have no idea-”

“Cut the shit, seriously? _Seriously_? You think I don’t know?”

“I-” He begins to physically back away now, heart beating too fast, much too fast.

“You think I’m not completely tired and confused as to why you feel you can’t tell me? Phil - fucking dammit - I am in love with you and we’re both wasting precious fucking time on beating around the bush.”

“Clint.” He says, because he’s got nothing else. It’s out there, it’s open.

“Were you ever going to talk to me about it? Or were you going to be Mr Martyr and fucking wallow in your self pity and loneliness rather than know?” Phil says nothing. “Even if I had rejected you, Christ, it wasn’t worth a few awkward meetings and run-ins in the hall? I wasn’t worth that?”

“You’re worth more than that, Clint. I fucking didn’t tell you because you deserve better than that. Deserve better than to have your superior, someone who has mentored you, make you feel obligated to feel something you don’t. I know you. You’d have pretended and been miserable and worried about your future because I would have backed you into a corner.”

“Fuck that shit, Coulson. Honestly.”

“No, you know what? Fuck you.” Phil’s walking toward his bedroom, hears the unmistakable footsteps of Clint’s, that he’s heard no doubt a million times. “We are not doing this while you’re drunk and Stark fucks Rogers’ brains out next door, okay?”

“You think Stark tops?” Phil’s footsteps falter and Clint laughs. “Phil. Look at me.” He doesn’t, but he doesn’t move farther away though he’s trying, seriously, what’s up with that. “I love you. You’ve been in love with me for years, assuming Natasha hasn’t been completely off her rocker for more than I’m willing to think she has.”

“So what? You want to have a relationship?” He finally turns around and looks at Clint, who is no longer clad in sunglasses and is closer than Phil expected. “And then what? We see each other twice, maybe, a week outside of missions. And on missions, is that supposed to be like some romantic get-away?” Clint rolls his eyes, stepping closer. Phil doesn’t step back. “I’ve been in relationships before. I know how it works. No one enjoys a workaholic, especially not one who’s nearing fifty with a receding hairline and terrible bone structure.” 

Clint laughs, shakes his head, leans forward, and kisses Phil.

And in the future, Phil’s right. They don’t see each other as often as they’d like and missions aren’t cute and full of cuddles. But Clint wakes him up with incredible sex - like seriously, mindblowing, Phil actually stops thinking for a handful of minutes - on his fiftieth birthday, so he figures they’re probably going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I have bronchitis and I'm bored at home.
> 
> Title from Something Corporate's "Drunk Girl" it's cute (not really though)
> 
> also I like to write my own thoughts into fanfiction so then you get a lot of "Seriously" and "Honestly" and stuff so sorry it sounds like a 17 year old girl but not really because I am a 17 year old girl


End file.
